Under the influence (OTA)
(ooc: timed to after dark)
There were times when the ghosts - demons, even, he might think - were thicker, were darker, hovering about Macbeth's head, keeping him from sleep. He had drunk, hoping the alcohol would ease things, but it did not. Instead, he stood now in the green of the park, the stars above him. The air was too fresh even now, the park too green. At times, he felt as if he was suffocating. In his hand, he held the crown that had been waiting for him in his room, battered, gilded.
As he fell to his knees, he let the crown drop, thudding dully in the grass, next to his messager where he'd thought of reaching out to Martha, but he'd stopped himself (was it embarrassment, perhaps? He knew not). Oh, for peace - what would he give for peace. He let out a dry sob, his head back. King, for what? Of what? Nothing.
There were times when the ghosts - demons, even, he might think - were thicker, were darker, hovering about Macbeth's head, keeping him from sleep. He had drunk, hoping the alcohol would ease things, but it did not. Instead, he stood now in the green of the park, the stars above him. The air was too fresh even now, the park too green. At times, he felt as if he was suffocating. In his hand, he held the crown that had been waiting for him in his room, battered, gilded.
As he fell to his knees, he let the crown drop, thudding dully in the grass, next to his messager where he'd thought of reaching out to Martha, but he'd stopped himself (was it embarrassment, perhaps? He knew not). Oh, for peace - what would he give for peace. He let out a dry sob, his head back. King, for what? Of what? Nothing.